


The Art of Persuasion

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Arthur runs away from home because his father abuses him and goes to live away with his friends. Uther, head of the Pendragon industries, desperately needs an heir. Enraged at Arthur's escape, Uther hires Percival to find Arthur back willingly or not. When Percival finds Arthur, he kidnaps him as Arthur doesn't want to go back at any cost. Percival takes arthur back but Arthur tries to escape many times but percival doesnt let him. Along the way, Percival finds out why Arthur ran away in the first place and they fall for each other. In the last scene Uther can find a note informing him that Arthur has run away with his right hand man, Percival, this time never to come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING:
> 
> kidnap, child abuse

[sorry, OP, for the changes I make to your amazing and wonderful prompt. I hope you like anyway]

Percival Cole parks his eco-friendly car and leans across to pop open the glove compartment, pulling out the file of papers he's collected and dislodging the collection of trash that happens to be in there, too. He shoves a few receipts and a Mars Bar wrapper off the file and flicks it open, shuffling through till he find the address he tracked the mark to scribbled on the back of an envelope, along with a doodle of a puppy and a daisy chain. Percival checks the address against the house he's parked in front of. 

The porch is lit by an outside light so he can see the number clearly. There are other lights on, inside, behind drawn curtains, and the house looks warm and welcoming. For a moment Percival considers just driving away, turning his back and leaving. But then he remembers the payment and Uther Pendragon and why he's even here in the first place. He drops the file on the passenger seat and pops the door, shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way up to the front door. 

It takes a few minutes for the hall light to come on and for someone to open the door. A rush of laughter comes out and the girl, or woman rather, who answers yells an 'oi!' over her shoulder before turning to Percival with a big smile, laughing herself. Five three or four, brown and brown, athletic build. 

"Hello, can I help you?" she says, smiling warmly at Percival. 

"I'm Percival Cole, I'm here looking for Arthur Pendragon at the behest of his father," Percival says, pre-emptively shoving his foot in the door. 

The woman doesn't disappoint- she slams the door on his boot. Percival smiles and waits, not bothering to push. 

"What's wrong?" a male voice says, "did you just slam the door on-"

"Shut up! It's him, he's sent someone!" 

"What? Who sent-"

"What's going on?"

"No, go, out the back! Go!"

Percival shoves. He's met by three terrified sets of eyes. The first is the woman who opened the door, the second is a young man, five nine, brown and brown, scruffy. The third is the boy Percival's come for. Arthur Pendragon. Heir to one of the biggest, most influential companies of the twenty first centuary, though few people know just how much power Uther Pendragon has. 

Only, Arthur Pendragon is hardly the boy Percival was expecting. Logically he knew that in the three years since he ran away Arthur Pendragon would have grown up from the seventeen year old in all the photos Percival has seen, but he wasn't quite expecting the plump, childish face with heavy, sad eyes and dark skin underneath, lank hair and a grim expression to have become the man in front of him. 

"Arthur Pendragon," Percival says, pulling himself together. 

"Not a lot of point denying it, I guess," the man says, "you had better come in. Gwen, please don't castrate him, I've only just finished my law degree and am definitely not qualified to defend such an action."

Percival looks to the left and decides that he's very grateful to Arthur. The woman who answered the door, Gwen, has a look on her face that is far from pleasant. Percival pushes past her and the other boy and waits for Arthur to lead him somewhere. 

They end up in the kitchen, after Arthur ducks into the living room to placate whoever's in there. It's a smaller kitchen than any of the ones belonging to Uther that Percival has seen, but it's much nicer and looks as if someone actually cooks. There are the leftovers of dinner, dishes in the sink, a few glasses on the table. 

"Sit," Arthur says, taking a chair for himself and waiting for Percival to do the same, "what are you doing here? How did you find me? What does... what does my father want?"

"Uther Pendragon hired me to find you, I'm a private detective and security specialist, and I found you through a series of records, credit checks, guesses at aliases and questioning of people who knew you at the time."

"Who was it who cracked in the end?" Arthur asks. 

"Uther Pendragon hired me to find you, and to bring you back. His current wife is unable to bear him any children and when they got tested it turned out that Uther shoots blanks."

"Yeah, I was an anomaly that came about through a lot of medical intervention."

"I will be taking you back to him, I'd like it to be of your free will. He's offering incentives, a position in the company, property, a good sa-"

"No. I won't be going back."

"He's your father."

"Yes. I'm still not going back. Thank you for coming to find me, you can tell my father that I have not changed my mind."

Percival talks for a long time, but he gets nowhere. All he gets is stubborn defiance. In the end he has to leave and call Uther to let him know that he'll be moving on to stage two, and that the price for that will be what they discussed.

When he's sorted things Percival sits in his car, staring at the seventies block of flats he's ended up in front of. It's one thing, corralling and bringing home run aways who are vulnerable kids, monied brats who ran away for kicks or because daddy didn't buy them the right Porche, but Arthur Pendragon is twenty years old. He's an adult. Still, Uther's price is generous and he guaranteed that once he got Arthur in a room with him Arthur would see sense and forgive the means to the end. 

Percival goes back to the street with the warm house and parks up, ducking out of view, and settles in to wait. He plugs in his ipod and sets an alarm, then listens to an old Agatha Christie until it goes off at two am. He's checked periodically, watched the lights go out one by one all over the house, and he's pretty sure everyone's asleep. Still, he's careful. 

He's done this enough times that it's easy to get the livingroom window open without a sound. He climbs inside and walks across the carpeted floor with confidence, silent as he can be. He knows which room is Arthur's, he's done his research, and it's a matter of moments before he slips inside the downstairs backroom. 

He stills, waiting, but Arthur doesn't wake. Percival nods and slides through the shadows, careful not to trip over the mess he's been lead to expect, and gets his gloved hand over Arthur's mouth. There's a moment of frantic panic, then Percival drags the boy out of bed and he stills, breath harsh and afraid. 

"Shhh," Percival says, then hurries them over to the window. 

It's easier out than in, as expected, and the only moment comes when the neighbour's dog barks, but then all is quiet again and Percival pulls Arthur into the car. He pulls away fast, just as Arthur begins yelling for help, trying to open the door, flailing around. Percival's glad he put Arthur in the back seat. He turns on the radio and waits for the boy to calm a little. 

"What the ever loving fuck do you think you're doing? This is kidnap! What the hell? Oh wait, it's my father. Of COURSE he hired you to KIDNAP me!" Arthur growls, giving Percival's seat a good whack. 

Then, to Percival's surprise, Arthur climbs through and straps himself into the passenger side, subsiding with only a low grumble. 

"That's it?" Percival asks. 

"What, did you expect me to knock you out? Mate, you're driving. I do anything now and we both crash. We've got a long drive, you'll have to sleep at some point."

Arthur speaks with a light tone, and he seems relaxed, but Percival hears the threat in the last and a shiver creeps up his spine. Arthur's right- it's a long drive from France to Edinburgh, at least a full day, possibly more depending on when they can get a ferry. It's not like they can fly, not without arousing a lot of suspicion. 

"So, do you go by Percival? Long name. What about Percy? Perce? Val?"

"No. Percival," Percival says. 

"Tell me, Percy," Arthur says, with emphasis, "what did he pay you? What did he promise you?"

"He paid me the usual fee for such things, plus a bonus if completed in a time frame of his setting, plus an extra for getting you without harming you, plus expenses."

"Money. You kidnap people for money. I thought maybe he'd blackmailed you, but no- you're just a scumbag."

"It's a living."

Percival feels absolutely no need to explain to Arthur his practice of checking families, of making sure that the children he brings home will be safe, that he only takes cases he feels will actually help the vulnerable party involved. He doesn't bother to explain, either, that his main business is security and consulting, that this is a side business that he only takes on when it suits him. 

"I guess I should inform you that I get car sick," Arthur says a few minutes later. 

He does look a little pale, but then it's early in the morning and he's just been kidnapped. Percival shoves a carrier bag into his lap, just to be on the safe side, and keeps driving. 

"You know that my friends are going to find it suspicious that you turn up and then I vanish?" Arthur says.

"You left a note," Percival explains, patiently. 

"You haven't seen my handwriting. They'll know."

"I have, as it happens, seen a lot of your handwriting. English Literature wasn't your strongest subject at school, was it? Mr Geoffrey Monmouth was kind enough to share some of your essays with me. However, I typed the note."

"You met Geoffrey?"

"I'm the best at what I do, Mr Pendragon."

"Please, if you must... don't call me that. Please. I'm Arthur Smith, now."

"Yes, it was a very difficult alias to track, Mr Pendragon."

"Don't!"

Arthur seems genuinely distressed, so Percival shrugs and leaves it. He's not here to rile the boy, after all. 

"I didn't want to be associated with... with _him_. I tried to change it all, to be someone completely new, but I didn't answer to other names, and it was suspicious enough, a young person travelling alone, so I stuck with Arthur and no one found me, so I just... kept it."

Percival lets Arthur ramble a bit, then puts on the radio. By the time they arrive in Avalon, their first stop, Arthur is asleep. Percival had thought long and hard about whether to stop, but had come to the conclusion that getting in a nap before Arthur really got desperate was a good idea. If Arthur thought that stopping was something they would be doing he'd bide his time and that meant more peace for Percival. 

That turns out to be faulty logic. As soon as he's asleep, Percival is woken by the sound of Arthur trying to climb out the fifth floor hotel window and cursing when the drain pipe he was trying to cling to started to come away from the wall. Percival fishes him out of the air and drags him back inside. 

"I get extra if you're in one piece," Percival says. 

He locks the windows as well as the door this time, tucking all the keys safely away underneath himself as he lies back on the bed and shuts his eyes again. He tries again to get some sleep, but Arthur's teeth are chattering and his breathing is too fast and too loud. Percival sighs and sits up. 

"For heaven's sake, I have warmer clothes for you," Percival says, tossing a bag to Arthur. 

Arthur just holds onto it, head down, shivering. 

"Come on, it's not so bad, huh? He's your Dad, come on. I want to sleep!" Percival says, frustrated. 

"Can I take a shower?" Arthur asks. 

Percival considers. He hasn't sprung for a very expensive hotel, and the bathroom is shared. He would have to stand guard. Arthur might warm up and settle down, allowing a nap, though. Percival weighs the benefits against the dangers and then agrees. 

He sits on the closed lid of the toilet and faces the wall, giving Arthur a semblance of privacy. Arthur shows no signs of humiliation, however, starting to strip before Percival's even looked away. 

"You can watch, if you like," Arthur says. 

Percival doesn't. He keeps his eyes on the wall steadfastly until Arthur's tucked safely behind the shower curtain. 

"You're not very talkative," Arthur says, over the spray. 

"No," Percival agrees. 

"Gwaine is. He's the guy you met earlier, with the gorgeous hair. He talks A LOT."

"Mm."

"So does Gwen. They are both chatter boxes."

"Uh-huh."

"You know both their names. That gives you leverage, for when they come after you. I thought I'd even the playing field a little bit. They will come after you, you know. And they'll find you. And then you'll have to duck, because neither of them are as soft and cuddly as they look."

"Okay," Percival says. 

Arthur quiets after that and Percival's relieved, until he hears the stealthy sounds of the tiny window opening. He sighs, but doesn't bother to stop Arthur. There's no way he can fit out of it, it's very small. And even if he does, he's stark bollock naked in a strange town, Percival stacks the odds in his own favour. 

"Bugger," Arthur says. 

"Worth a try," Percival says. 

"I hate you," Arthur says. 

"Most people do," Pecival agrees. 

"I bet my father loves you. Scumbag like yourself, you must get along like a house on fire. Including the innocent, screaming bystanders."

"Nice developement of a metaphor. Are you getting out now, or shrivelling yourself to a prune?"

Arthur gets out, wrapping himself in a towel. He's still shivering. Percival looks away again, keeping his eyes off Arthur's body. He listens to Arthur dressing, then the door's slammed open and Arthur takes off down the hall. Percival, having expected it, sticks out his leg and trips him, dragging him up and through the hall to their room. 

"Help! Help me!" Arthur yells.

"No one will bother, not here," Percival says.

Arthur starts yelling in French instead. Percival throws him gently into their room and locks the door, lying once more on the bed. 

"I could just knock you out and take keys," Arthur says, when he's calmed down and stopped yelling at the closed door. 

"You could," Percival says. 

He assumed that was next on the list to try. He's not worried, he's prepared. He keeps his eyes shut and tries once more to sleep. 

"You'll have to look, you know," Arthur says softly, just as Percival's about to drop off, "I'll make sure you look."

"At what?" Percival says, weary. 

"At what he's done. You can't avert your eyes for ever."

"What are you on about? It's poetic, but I want to sleep, so shut up, would you?"

Arthur quiets and Percival finally, finally gets his nap. He's woken by the expected attack, but he gets Arthur in an arm lock with relative ease and back into the car and out of Avalon without too much fuss. He got his nap, he got acquainted with Arthur's repetoir of escape plans. Maybe he'll have some peace, now. 

"Did my father tell you anything about me?" Arthur asks, shattering that dream.

"That's how I found you."

"I see. I didn't think you'd have found much out from him. What did he tell you?"

"That you were a good kid who fell in with the wrong crowd."

Arthur mutters something, then subsides into grouchy silence. The fuel gage ticks down and Percival decides he better explain things to Arthur so he can stop for petrol. 

“You’re not going to shout for help or try to run away again,” Percival begins. 

“Oh? Why’s that?” Arthur asks, idly, as if it barely interests him.

“Firstly, your friends are coming for you so you might as well wait for their help. Secondly, and more compellingly, if you do I will have to gag you and tie you up and leave you in the boot for the rest of the journey. Much less comfortable.”

“If I escape you won’t be able to do that.”

“You won’t escape.”

“If I yell someone might call the police.”

“No one will call the police, not where I’m stopping. I’m very good at what I do, Mr Pendragon.”

“Don’t.”

“Arthur, then.”

“Can I at least go to the bathroom, when we stop?”

“Yes, you may use the loo.”

“Why don’t you just pull a gun or something? Surely that’s the more tried and true method.”

“I try for non-violence, where possible. Of course, sometimes it becomes necessary and I do carry. Legally. Besides, I get extra if you’re unharmed, remember?”

Percival pulls into the petrol station he’s already scoped out. It’s remote, no residential buildings for miles around, and Percival’s already paid the only person who works here enough that there won’t be any questions. He’d spun a story for the guy, then paid him handsomely with Uther’s money, so it’s safe for him to escort Arthur to the bathroom while the man fills the tank. Percival turns away again, to give privacy, and again Arthur gives the window a try. 

“What did I tell you about that?” Percival says, mildly, not turning around. 

He checked the window already. It’s locked and overgrown and won’t open. 

“I’m not trying to escape. Just, checking my options,” Arthur says, “besides, as you say, I can’t escape. I’m done.”

“Wash your hands.”

Arthur rolls his eyes but does as he’s told and Percival is free to pay for the petrol and buy himself a Mars bar. 

“Those are bad for your teeth,” Arthur says.

“Obviously,” Percival says, biting into the chocolate with relish. 

“Just sayin’. Maybe you should buy more, then perhaps you’ll overdose on sugar or have a heart attack or something.”

“Then we’ll crash, as you pointed out earlier,” Percival says, starting the car and driving one handed while he finishes off the chocolate. 

The journey to Edinburgh, Percival decides, goes rather well once they reach the ferry. Arthur falls asleep just before Calais and doesn’t wake until they’re back in the UK. He yells at Percy until they reach London, tries to run when they stop for petrol and snacks, then sits sullenly against the window. 

“Tell me,” Percival says, “what a boy who has everything is doing running away?”

“None of your business. My father is not a kind man,” Arthur says. 

“Many people are not kind, that’s not a reason to run.”

“I used to read books about people like you,” Arthur says, “Daschell Hammet, Dick Francis, Raymond Chandler. I read Kate Atkinson’s, as well, about what’s his name. All those guys, though, were the heroes. You’re just a scumbag.”

“Books are rarely accurate.”

“That’s a poor excuse for not trying to live up to the stories,” Arthur says.

“What teen-angst book did you read when you ran away, then? Which story were you living up to?”

“ _I_ wasn’t, my friends were,” Arthur says, and refuses to answer more questions. 

When they reach Edinburgh Arthur sits up, more alert. Percival takes them to the address Uther gave him and pulls into the drive of a house set in a huge amount of land, gated, secure. He lets Arthur out and doesn’t bother to stop him running. He’s surprised, though, when Arthur runs towards the house instead of away. 

“Gaius!” Arthur yells, throwing himself into the arms of the man waiting on the steps. 

Percival walks up more sedately and waits for the two to part. 

“Hello, Arthur,” Gaius says, “it’s so good to see you.”

“And Merlin? Is he here, still, too?” Arthur asks eagerly. 

“He’s here, for the holidays,” Gaius says, “he’s worried. We all are. Why are you home? We got your letter, but why are you coming home?”

“My letter?” Arthur asks, stepping back, face wary. 

“Yes, you wrote to tell us you were arriving,” Gaius says. 

“I didn’t. My father had me kidnapped, by this gentleman,” Arthur says, indicating Percival. 

“At your service,” Percival says. 

“Kidnapped?”

“Yes. I was living with Gwaine, I was living where you put me, and he came and got me. Dragged me to his car and threatened me.”

Gaius looks thoughtful, face cloudy and scrunched, but he doesn’t say anything. A dark blur comes rushing out of the house and clatters down the steps, tripping at the bottom into Arthur’s arms. 

“Arthur!” The blur says, coalescing into the shape of a young man. 

“Hullo Merlin,” Arthur says, fondly, hugging the man, “how are you?”

“I’m good, good. What are you doing? It’s not safe to come home! Why are you here? He’ll be back soon. He’s only gone two weeks.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Arthur asks in return, “you were supposed to never come back either.”

“Oh, I come when he’s gone, to see Gaius. Me and Mum are trying to talk him into retiring and living with us, but he won’t. Still the same loyal dog.”

Another person appears on the steps and walks down. This time it’s a woman of indiscriminate age, head held high and back tight with tension. She stalks. Percival watches as she casts a disapproving eye on Merlin and Gaius. Merlin jumps away from Arthur and tucks his hands behind his back, eyes on the floor. 

“Merlin, you are back,” she says. 

“Catrina,” Merlin says, faintly, “I didn’t expect… I thought you were with Uther.”

“Yes, I imagine you did. Haven’t we made it clear that you are no longer welcome here? No matter. Uther sent me back to attend to some business. Ah, and I see that it has arrived. Percival Cole, Uther has given orders for the parcel to be delivered elsewhere, as he’s been called away on urgent business.”

“I’ve only been paid to bring him this far,” Percival says, not liking the way she looks at or talks about Arthur. 

“You’ll be reimbursed, don’t worry. Uther will let you name your price. You’ll stay here, tonight and tomorrow night, with your charge, and then you will fly out to Spain where instructions will await you. The delay is regrettable, but necessary for Uther to arrange private flights so you won’t be… bothered by any antics of your charge.”

“Right,” Percival says, and lays out his terms and prices. 

If he’s going to make some money, he might as well make himself rich. A few more days won’t hurt. Once Catrina has agreed to his price she stalks to the drive and waits for a big, black car to pull up, and then she’s whisked away. 

“She never stays,” Gaius says, “thank God.”

“You’re as bad as us, Gaius!” Merlin says, delighted.

“Shush. About this letter. We did receive it, and it did come from the right address. On second thoughts, I should perhaps have read it more closely. It was probably from Gwaine.”

“Oh, oh!” Merlin says, “yes! That makes sense. The warning came a little late. He means email, by the way, the old goat.”

“Remember, Merlin, that it is I who makes your meals,” Gaius says, one eyebrow rising impressively high.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival grows uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: past abuse, non-graphic and not described in detailed. Kidnap

Percival watches Arthur. He's been allowed to stay with the three, to eat with them, but they don't talk much. They smile a lot at one another but Arthur slowly droops, misery sort of slowly permeating through him. All the little things are starting to add up and Percival is beginning to be incredibly uneasy about this, despite the promise of money. He does want to be rich. So he watches Arthur and tries to work out what's wrong here. He doesn't bother to secure Arthur before he goes to bed; the way he reckons, Arthur more or less wants to be here- he goes with Merlin like a docile puppy, holding Merlin's elbow, laughing together. Percival wonders if they were lovers, but decides probably not. He watches them go, then listens to Gaius lecture him before retiring too. When he's alone he pulls out his private mobile and dials Lance.

-Perce! Awesome! Does this call mean you're done with the job?-

"No, it doesn't."

-Oh. Does it mean you're worried about it, then?-

"Yeah. Are you at work?"

-Yeah, El and I are still trying to work that bloody idiot Jamison's case because he has man-flu. He's done shit all so far.-

"Good. I need everything on Uther. Even tiny little things."

-There's nothing, Perce, I checked.-

"It's Percival, Lance."

-Yeah yeah. I checked everything for you, he checks out. He never did anything except dote on his son.-

"What about doctor's records, hospital records, anything? Any complaints at all? Nothing on Arthur? Can't you get Elyan to check? He's much better at that stuff."

-El, Perce wants another ton of digging into Uther. Can you take a few?.... yeah I know... right. He'll do it for a pizza.-

"Done. Lance, there's seriously something wrong here."

-you could always let him go. Like I told you, he's twenty and this really isn't particularly legal. I know you walk a fine line sometimes, but this... I dunno, Perce, I'm not sure that forcing a grown man to do something against his will is ever right.-

"I need the money. I need that money!"

-I know. Look, let me do some checking, I'll get back to you tomorrow morning. Are you alright?-

"Yeah. I cut it all off, you know that. It's a mission; I'll complete it."

-Lieutenant Cole through and through.-

"Yes sir, Captain Dulac. Alright. Thanks, Lance."

-Goodnight.-

Percival hangs up and looks around, then decides he'd better sleep in the car in case Arthur tries to run away in it. There are probably other cars, so he leaves the keys on the table in the hopes Arthur will take them and try Percival's car first. He thinks that Arthur will see the delightful karma in that. 

Arthur does go for the keys, and Percival wakes to the horn blaring when Arthur notices him and over balances in surprise. 

"I knew I should have woke Merlin and got his keys," Arthur grumbles. 

"Mm," Percival agrees, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and climbing out of the car after Arthur.

It's early, but the sun's up. Arthur's shirtless- running must have been a whim. Percival blinks himself awake and yawns, absently watching Arthur's back. The sun makes his skin almost golden. Percival frowns, noticing thin white lines, patching scars, crisscrossing, marks that look like shiny, long healed burns. There's something funny about his arm, too, as if it's been broken too many times. Percival watches, remembers what Arthur said about Percival having to see one day, puts together the comment about Uther not being kind. His phone rings before his sleep muddled brain can really get to the answer. 

"Yeah?" Percival says. 

-Perce, it's Lance. We haven't found much, but a teacher put in a report, when he was about six, about some safe-guarding worry, and a tutor at school had a chat with a friend of hers in our station and he put a report in. It's not much, probably a lot of nothing.-

Percival watches Arthur as he disappears into the house, noticing the way he favours his left leg. Everything clicks and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Shit."

-It's probably nothing.-

"I shouldn't do this one. It's wrong. It's enough to know that."

-He's a grown up. If he wants to leave once he's talked to Uther, he can. Percival Cole, Perce, you can't... I know I talk about legality and things, but you don't have a lot of choice in this one.-

"Don't. I'm not thinking about that. It's not there," Percival snaps. 

-It is there. I'm warning you, don't back out of this one. I promise you I will help you, once you're done with this. And I will absolutely help Arthur Pendragon. I would have anyway. We always visit you're runaways, Perce, you make us check on them.-

"Okay. I have to go."

Percival hangs up and rings Mithian instead. 

-Percy! Nice to hear from you, stranger.-

"It's Percival," he says, automatically.

-What do you need, pal of mine?-

"Advice. I have... concerns. About the Pendragon case."

-Yes, I did warn you it might be hard.-

"Lance says to do it anyway."

-He could be right. I still think the kidnapping is a bit far. It did end up as that, didn't it? You have to bring him now. He's not a child, he won't fall into our purview, but I will check on him out of hours.-

"Yeah. Why aren't all social workers like you, lovely?"

-Because too many of them are like you, my dear.-

Percival can't defend himself. He's not a good person, he hasn't been for a long time, not since he and Lance got back from that hell hole. 

-Percy? Hey, you shouldn't have kidnapped him. Doesn't mean you're entirely wrong, or that you're a terrible person. You could try talking to him, telling him about-

"No!" Percival cuts her off, "don't talk about that. I'll just take him to Uther, get the money, screw humanity and pity and all the rest of it."

Percival hangs up and stalks into the house. 

He sits in the hallway, brooding, trying to think everything through. He can't get those white marks out of his head, though, and he can't stop thinking about Freya. He considers calling her, then decides against it. She'd hear it in his voice and she's still only little. He sighs and stares at a painting of a small child, staring solemnly out of the frame, a small dog tucked under one arm. His hair is white blonde. 

"It's me," Arthur says, coming down the stairs, now in a shirt.

"I'm sorry," Percival blurts, caught up in his thoughts.

"For not knowing it was me?"

"For not seeing."

"Oh," Arthur says, then waits, then looks at his bare feet, "it makes no difference, then."

Percival doesn't bother to answer. Arthur goes down the hall. He pauses in front of Percival, but then walks on without saying or doing anything. He's not limping, now. Percival stares at the picture of the boy. There's no happiness in it, no childish excitement or enthusiasm. Percival stands and starts to walk, looking for others, looking for photos. He finds nothing. There's no sign of Arthur anywhere here, except that dark portrait. He ends up high, high up in an attic, looking out, remembering Jane Eyre doing the same in very different circumstances. He wishes he had her certainty. 

"I can't believe I just wished I was Jane Eyre," he mutters, leaning on the sill. 

He stays away from the others all day, only joining them by accident at dinner. Arthur looks a little happier, for some reason, and sits beside Merlin chattering and laughing. The two seem close, ignoring personal space and all rules of interaction, speaking in half sentences, in jokes and allusions. Percival watches, wondering how long they've known one another, what they were like as children, whether they grew up here in this cold, giant house. He doesn't ask, and he sleeps in the car again. 

He sets his alarm for four am, predicting an escape attempt. He sits outside Arthur and Merlin's door, gun across his knees, but no one comes out until Merlin stumbles and trips over Percival, sprawling across the hall with a grunt and yell. Percival puts his gun away and peers in to check Arthur's still there. He's stretched across the double bed there, naked except for loose boxers. There are more scars than yesterday. Percival shuts the door quickly. 

"What?" Merlin says, confused, scrambling up.

Percival ignores him, going downstairs to make coffee and toast. He checks his work phone for details of their flight, then packs up some food and goes to collar Arthur as he comes down the stairs, fully dressed. Arthur yells and struggles, but neither merlin nor Gaius get there in time and Percival roars away in a scrabble of tyres and a spray of gravel, Merlin running after them all the way to the gate. Arthur climbs from the back to the front again and sits, head against the window, watching Percival. It's an hour before he speaks, which Percival is fine with. 

"How do you justify it, now, knowing what he's done to me?" Arthur asks, "the scars you've seen are nothing on the ones he left on the inside. Not only on me, either. Merlin watched for years, unable to help. It wasn't until I met Gwaine when he was an exchange student that Gaius could get me away."

"From that I assume you know how much power your father has. Anyway, he told me nothing about any of this and there's absolutely nothing unless you dig incredibly deep. We checked so carefully."

"Power. Yes, he has that. Don't kid yourself that no one knew- it was the worst kept secret. It's just that no one cared, until my friends lived up to the story-book ideal of heroes."

"Mm."

"I think he did threaten you, without being overt. Or you'd let me go. You pretend to be honorable, to have a code, I believe."

Percival ignores that. It's not until they reach Manchester, the hum of the car, the silence, the intimacy of sitting just the two of them, that Percival blurts anything else out.

"It wasn't a threat, just a gentle nudge."

Arthur doesn't answer, he's pretending to be asleep. 

When they reach the airport they're boarded quickly, and then left locked in a luxurious area of soft sofas and well-stocked mini bars and fridges and cupboards. Arthur helps himself to a bag of macadamia nuts and sprawl in a chair, watching Percival. It's disconcerting. Percival sits on the sofa and fidgets. 

"Tell me about the nudge," Arthur demands. 

He's not a boy, not a child. Percival doesn't realise, until that moment, that Arthur really was Uther's son; he has the same power to demand attention, the same ability to make himself regal with simple words. 

"My family is dead," Percival admits, "or rather, I am. I was in the special forces, I was MIA, I never came back. I have Freya, my accidental daughter, my miracle. We live within your father's grasp, and he just mentioned that I had a daughter."

Arthur's quiet for a long time, and the plane takes off before he speaks again, a good half hour later.

"We'll take her with us, when we run," Arthur says. 

That's it. Nothing else. He doesn't bother to be persuasive, he just says it and then goes back to his nuts. Percival watches for a long time, and it's almost too late when he ducks into the cock-pit and gives the pilot instructions from Uther, proved with a small bit of tech-genius from Elyan and a smart phone. When they land at Oxford Airport Percival leaves Arthur locked in the plane and picks Freya up from Elyan's mother's house. 

"What are you doing?" Elyan asks, face pale with worry.

"Nothing," Percival says, "Uther gave me permission to see her. Hello, butterfly!"

Freya giggles and pokes his nose, then settles in his arms and gives him a hug. 

"okay," Elyan says, uncertain, still. 

"See you, El," Percival says.

On the drive back he sings with Freya, keeping her happy, but his thoughts are on what he's doing. He does know what he's doing, as well. He told Arthur he was very good at his job, and he wasn't lying. He's thinking of what he's leaving, the ties he's cutting. He considers leaving Lance a note or a message, but doesn't risk it in the end. He pulls up into the airport and parks the stolen car where he found it, leaves Freya's booster seat in a near by bin, and returns to the plane. 

"Oh, hullo," Arthur says, "you must be Freya."

Freya nods, climbing onto Percival's lap and hiding her face shyly in his shoulder. 

"How old are you?" Arthur asks. 

Freya looks at her fingers and holds up five of them, counting carefully. 

"She doesn't talk, do you sweet-thing?" Percival says, smiling. 

"Good plan," Arthur says, "People talk far too much. Where are we going, Percy?"

"Spain," Percival says, "won't have long. We're flying to Madrid, I think we'll have a bit of time there. We're going to go for a walk, buy a few things."

Arthur nods, and again says nothing. Percival watches him for a while, watches him coax Freya out of shyness and into playing on the floor with toys made from bottles and towns and cities made out of boxes, rivers made out of clothes. The plane takes off and they all strap in, but as soon as it's safe Freya's back on the floor, playing with Arthur's funny macadamia and toothpick people. The more Percival watches the more he realises how nervous and afraid Arthur had been to begin with, or at least that's what he puts Arthur's change in attitude down to. He doesn't know what he said that made Arthur believe in him, doesn't know what gave Arthur confidence. Maybe Merlin, maybe Freya, maybe Gaius. Percival decides he doesn't care. 

When they land at Madrid Percival hurries them out of the airport and rents a car with a credit card Uther can't trace, then drives them out of the city. It's not far to the place he stashed his stuff. It's been a long time, he did all this as a joke, with Lance, after their first year with the specials, as a kind of joke and half in serious, in case things got too much and they needed to run. He has a crap alias and a couple of bits of paperwork, and some clothes, and a pack of hair dye. He uses the crappy alias and leaves the rest. He dumps his phone and buys a new, cheap one with his alias, then drives out. He has to get to Grenada before it gets too dark, and he has to change cars somewhere. 

He dumps the car just outside Valdepenas and then they walk to Aval car rental and he just manages to get away with the ID. 

"Percy," Arthur says, "why are we going to Grenada?"

Freya's asleep in the back, in a rented car seat. Percival had thought it would be more comfortable to sleep in than a booster. 

"I know someone there. It's not actually Grenada. How did you travel as Arthur Smith?" Percival asks, more to nudge Arthur in the right direction than because he doesn't know. 

"Right. Gaius 'knew someone'. As in I shouldn't ask questions, right?"

"For now. Where do you want to go, by the way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are options. Join Snowdon in Russia? Or somewhere like Kuwait, Quatar?"

"Oh, right. Where else?"

"Plenty of Africa, a fair bit of the rich middle east, probably Cuba, maybe a few South American countries."

"Lets go to Mombasa."

"Kenya? Okay. Why?" 

"Uh, well, Eames was there, in Inception. Way I figure it, he's got loads of people out to get him. If he's safe ish there, we should be."

Percival laughs, pulling into the outskirts of Grenada. He doesn't have to go far in, and they're parking before five minutes has passed. Percival carries Freya and goes to knock on the door of the bungalow. 

"I wish I spoke Spanish," Percival gripes, "that would make this much easier."

"I speak it," Arthur says. 

"Not helpful, you don't know what I'm after."

Arthur shrugs. It turns out that Maka is perfectly able to translate three rather disparate people on his doorstep late at night. He beckons them in, demands to be shown cash (which Percival has enough of, thanks to Uther's advance), then snaps something in Spanish. 

"He wants you to wake the kid," Arthur translates.

Percival appreciates the lack of names. He wakes Freya as gently as he can, then sets her on the chair Maka indicates. The passports are made in front of their weary eyes, the pieces unpacked and put together, tweezers and pens and brushes making appearances. It's hours and hours before they're done. Arthur falls asleep, Freya falls asleep, Percival keeps watch. By the time they leave it's light outside, but they're well equipped now. Percival withdraws as much money as he can, then dumps his card. they head for the airport.


	3. Chapter 3

Uther paces, then puts his fist through his glass office wall, then throws a photo of Arthur that he had up for show at his secretary, then calls in Aredian to arrest his stupid pilots and then sends Gaius his notice of being fired, then goes to shout at Catrina, then starts ringing people. He arranges for Percival Cole's home to be ransacked and starts a search for him, figuring he'll be easier to trace than Arthur. He breaks some more things. 

It's not till a week later that a letter arrives, forwarded many times, with a hand written note from Arthur. 

Dear Uther (Uther reads),

I am well, thanks to your friend. You won't be finding us, I'm afraid. You always did pay for the best. Thanks for that. I'm not writing to gloat, actually, I am writing to tell you that The Snow Queen my favourite story because I thought perhaps you had a shard of glass, like Kai, and maybe it would melt one day. I am writing to tell you that every time you told me I looked like my mother I hoped that this time would be the time that that was a good thing. I am writing to tell you that every time you hurt me, damaged my body, broke me, I got back up in the hopes that it would be the last. I am writing to tell you that I put my faith in you, that I loved you, that I thought that pain and humiliation and terror were just part of being alive. 

I am writing to tell you that Merlin taught me it wasn't, that Gaius showed me a different love, that Gwaine taught me about joy and that Gwen taught me about kindness. I am writing to tell you that they are my family, they are my upbringing, my making. They are the people I owe a debt and duty to, it is they I would do anything for and it is they, not you, who can demand my presence. You may not demand anything of me. You may not even ask anything of me. 

I know that you will understand none of this. You have a shard of ice in your heart and it will never melt. I am only writing because I once thought you were my father. You were not. A father would never have done the things you have done. A father would have felt a need to be dutiful and honourable, as much as I did. You destroyed me, instead, and took enjoyment from doing so. You can try to find me, if you like, but as I have said; you paid for the best. Goodbye.

Uther puts down the paper, then burns it, then breaks some more things, then finds Catrina trying to soothe him so he hits her. 

***

Percy strolls along the little secluded beach, toes digging into the hot sand, waves sometimes washing over his feet. The sun's going down and he should head home, but he has a lot of thinking to do. He checked on Lance this morning, and found pictures of Arthur's friend, Gwen, on his arm and on Elyan's arm. Apparently Elyan and she were long lost siblings and Lance is now dating her. Percy needs to think about it, because he's felt so miserable all day without knowing why. When he reaches the road home he pauses, sighing, but takes it. It's only a ten minute walk. He shoves into his flip flops and ambles. 

Freya's at the door, waiting for him. She's grown again and her dress is short. She talks to him in quick, fluid Swahili. All Percy recognises is 'Habari ya jioni', good evening. He shrugs to her and uses sign language instead. 

*too fast, butterfly*

*sorry. Arthur's waiting! He cooked!*

*Uh oh. Do I need to go get Abasi to put out a fire?*

*No! It smells okay!*

Freya covers her mouth, giggling, and runs inside. Percy follows her, and sure enough, it does not smell of burning food. Arthur's in the kitchen, laying the table, but he steps over to Percy to give him a brief half hug before going to get the food. He's been quiet all day, but Percival thinks he has reason to be so he doesn't push, just sits at the table and listens to Arthur and Freya talking rapid Swahili. Arthur picked it up easily enough, though he doesn't speak as well as Freya does, he still has an English accent. Apparently, Freya's refusal to speak had been limited to English. The psychiatrist they took her to when she first spoke had just shrugged and said that trauma could be a funny thing, and watching your mother die is always hard, and that it was probably a sign of healing. Freya even uses some English, now, on rare occasions, though she still mostly uses sign or Swahili. Arthur had found out, via Google, the sign for 'bullshit' and they'd spent an entertaining day making it at Percy whenever he spoke and then falling about laughing. 

"Percy? You with us?" Arthur asks, plonking a plate of plain rice and veg in front of him. 

"What? Oh, just thinking."

Arthur nods and Percy watches Freya take her place at the head of the table, starting in on her food without waiting for Arthur to sit. 

*Frey, manners* Percy reminds. 

Freya waits, fork in her mouth, for Arthur to sit, then continues. She gives Arthur a thumbs up, then subsides into what Arthur calls her 'fooded vow of silence' and Percival calls her silent gluttony. Percy takes the opportunity to have a quick signed conversation with Arthur. 

*Are we going to talk?* Percy asks, giving a shrug to indicate that he's okay either way. 

*Yes*

*Send Freya to Abasi and Durra? She likes playing with Farida.*

*Your daughter.*

Percy shrugs. 

In the end he just puts Freya to bed early. Arthur goes for a walk, and by the time he gets back it's late enough for a school night that Freya doesn't question or fuss too much. She does demand he read three stories, two in Swahili, but then she goes off to sleep without much prompting. He closes her door quietly and goes through to the livingroom, sitting beside Arthur and putting his feet up. 

"Work tomorrow," he says. 

"I have the morning off. My turn to take Freya in."

"Great. Perfect. Who's doing Wednesday, did we ever sort that?"

"I asked Mohammed. He'll walk with her, he has to take his little brother anyway."

"Perfect. Freya has a crush on him."

Arthur grins, but it slips off his face. 

"Sorry. For being, uh, me."

"Nah. You wanted to talk?"

"Dunno. A year, huh? Shouldn't really... should it?"

"Do you miss them?"

"Unbearably, sometimes."

"I'm sorry."

"Mm. You, too?"

"I facebook stalked Lance from the library this morning. Thought that'd probably be safe enough. I still used a bunch of proxies and things. Did you know that my Elyan and your Gwen are siblings, and that she is now deeply in love with Lance?"

"I did not. I did know, though, that she had a brother called Elyan, so It's not an entirely new thought."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I must have mentioned it, sometime. Anything on Uther?"

"No, I can't see anything to worry us. You know, one of the reasons he hired me was that he was ill. If... if it happens, if he dies. Do you want to go back?"

"Back? Where?"

"Home."

"Where is that? I was with Uther, which was never home, then I was at Gwaine's, where I was a guest, and at uni... well, it's never home, is it? This is home, for me. Freya too, I think. What about you?"

"It's not home, probably never will be. But, I think I want to stay, for the moment at least. I would like to see Lance, though."

"We can invite them all out here, or visit England. Whichever. Yes, we'll do that. I think one day I'd be alright with going back to England, one day. When it doesn't remind me, always, of him."

"Where are you sleeping, tonight?"

"Nightmares have been okay this week, I think I'll kip with you. We can see again tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah."

I love you, Percy thinks. He doesn't say it, though, not yet. He's ready, but he knows that Arthur isn't. They've only been dating for a few months and they've been sleeping together even shorter. But, I love you, he thinks.

***

Lance is reading the newspaper, idly scanning the obits for famous people he knows, half listening to Gwen telling him about awful woman she has to meet today and be polite to because a client is always important, when he catches sight of it. 

"Gwen," he says, softly, interrupting her.

"Lance, don't be rude, I'm-"

She stops when he shows her the paper, then snatches it from him and stares. 

"Oh my God," she says, "I have to ring Gwaine."

Lance hands her the landline and listens to her side, which mostly consists of 'I know!'.

"He's crying," Gwen says, when she hangs up, "and he says that he still has no idea where Arthur is, and neither do Merlin or Gaius."

"What do we do?"

"Wait, and hope that Arthur..."

It takes Arthur almost a month to contact them, and when he does it's just a postcard with an address and the word 'come'. Gwen and Lance go, of course. Lance books the tickets and soothes Gwen's nervousness and, when they run into Gwaine and Merlin at the airport, he buys them all coffee. 

"What now?" Merlin asks, "do we walk? Where are we going? I Google mapped it, but I'll probably just get us lost if I try to find it in real life."

"You'll probably get us lost if you try and find it on Google. Are you sure you didn't find it in Lithuania or something?" Gwaine says. 

"Shut up," Merlin says. 

Lance spots Arthur the moment before Gwen does. He points, and then Gwen shrieks, and then Gwen, Gwaine and Merlin all throw themselves across the intervening space and try to hug him all at once. Lance stands back, eyes scanning for Percival. 

"He's with Freya," Arthur says, catching his look, "you're Lance. They're outside, come on."

Lance follows, taking Gwen's hand, gripping it too hard. They find Percy out in the baking heat. Lance does a double take. Where Freya had been a shy, timid five year old she now stands, twelve years old, brown as a nut. She's smiling and looks not at all shy, not at all timid. She's wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and she beams at Lance and gives him an enthusiastic hug.

"Uncle Lance," she says, "I missed you!"

"I missed you, too, Munchkin," Lance says, and then gapes again.

"Yeah, I can talk."

She can. She has an accent, Lance supposes it's Kenyan of Swahili or something, but she does talk, and she speaks English. 

"Can I get a hug, too?" Percival asks.

Lance turns to him reluctantly, still flawed by the changes in Freya. Percival's different, too. Tanned, less muscular, older. A little softer. He looks good, he looks happy. Lance hugs him and holds on a little too long. Seven years is not an easy span of time to be apart. 

"Percival, you absolute cunt," is what Lance finally manages to say. 

"Don't you dare," Arthur says, confusingly and seemingly nonsensically until Lance pulls away and sees him giving Freya a look which promises all sorts of trouble if Arthur ever hears her repeat that word. 

She says something in Swahili and then an argument breaks out between her and Arthur. 

"Wasn't my fault," Percival says, "you're the one who told me I was a better man than I thought. Also, I usually go by Percy theses days. Arthur never could remember my name, he has a useless brain."

"I have a very great brain," Arthur says, breaking off his argument for a moment, "it got Mohammed out of prison yesterday, thank you very much."

"Bloody idea, he shouldn't have been gambling there. It would have served him right if his parents left him to rot," Percy says, but there's no heat to it. 

"Dad!" Freya says, indignant, and she starts her argument with Arthur again. 

"Shall we go?" Percy asks. 

It's a very baffled, very noisy, very happy group of people who walk through the Mombasa heat to Percy and Arthur's house. Lance keeps his hand tucked into Gwen's and the other tucked into Freya's, and he walks in a kind of daze, chattering away but saying nothing. They all talk over one another, trying to update each other on their lives. It's not until later that they start taking turns and making sense of it all and it's not until the next day that the awkwardness recedes and it's not until the next week that Arthur finally, haltingly, brings up Uther and his death. 

"I loved him, once," Arthur mutters. 

"Uther," Merlin says, to Lance's confused look, "that's allowed."

"I loved him once, but I hated him always," Arthur continues, "and you all helped free me from him. I will come to England to thank Gaius, too, but thank you all. Except you, Lance, who wanted Percy to take me back all for the sake of a chit of a girl."

Freya tosses her head and her eyes flash and she berates Arthur in loud Swahili, hands moving in rude sign language, until Arthur bursts out laughing, head back. 

 

**

Percy walks the beach with Lance. They stop to watch Arthur, Gwen and Gwaine, sat by the shoreline. As they watch Merlin flops down beside them. 

"I love him," Percy admits.

"Good. I love her," Lance says. 

"Good," Percy says.


End file.
